Our two traitors were dead, but we were still in trouble. By no possible means could we get back to Zambo. We had been natives of the world, now we were natives of the plateau. The two things were separate and apart.

For the moment we could only sit among the bushes in patience and wait the coming of Zambo. Presently his honest black face topped the rocks and his Herculean figure emerged upon the top of the pinnacle.

“What I do now?” he cried. “You tell me and I do it.”

One thing only was clear. He was our one link with the outside world. On no account must he leave us.

“No, no!” he cried. “I not leave you. You always find me here. But can’t keep Indians. Too much Curupuri and they go home.”

“Make them wait till tomorrow, Zambo,” I shouted; “then I can send letter back by them.”

“Very good, sir! I promise they wait till tomorrow,” said the negro. “But what I do for you now?”

First of all, under our directions, he threw one end of the rope across the chasm to us. He then fastened his end of the rope to the package of supplies which had been carried up, and we were able to drag it across. This gave us the means of life for at least a week, even if we found nothing else. Finally he descended and carried up two other packets of mixed goods – a box of ammunition and a number of other things, all of which we got across by throwing our rope to him and hauling it back. It was evening when he at last climbed down. He promised us to keep the Indians till next morning.

And so I have spent nearly the whole of this our first night on the plateau writing up our experiences by the light of a single candle-lantern.

We camped at the very edge of the cliff and decided not to light fire or to make any unnecessary sound.

Tomorrow (or today because it is already dawn as I write) we shall begin to explore this strange land. Don’t know if I ever shall write again… Meanwhile, I can see that the Indians are still in their place, and I am sure that the faithful Zambo will be here to get my letter.

P. S. The more I think the more desperate does our position seem. I see no possible hope of our return. If there were a high tree near the edge of the plateau we might drop a return bridge across, but there is none within fifty yards. The rope, of course, is far too short that we could descend by it. No, our position is hopeless… hopeless!

The most wonderful things have happened and are happening to us. All the paper that I possess consists of five old note-books, and I have only the one pencil. But so long as I can move my hand I will continue to write down our experiences and impressions, since we are the only men to see such things.

On the morning after our being trapped upon the plateau by Gomez we began a new stage in our experiences. First we shifted our position to a small clearing thickly surrounded by trees. There we sat in comfort while we made our first plans for the invasion of this new country. There were no signs of life except some birds.

Our first care was to make a list of our own stores, so that we might know what we had to rely on. With the things that Zambo had sent across on the rope, we were very well supplied. We had our four rifles and a shot-gun. In the matter of provisions we had enough to last for several weeks, with tobacco and a few scientific implements, including a large telescope and binoculars. We cut down with our knives thorny bushes, which we piled round in a circle some fifteen yards in diameter. This was to be our refuge against sudden danger and the house for our stores. Fort Challenger, we called it.